


We are All Just Prisoners Here

by pendrogon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Purgatory, Season 7 Spoilers, mild wingkink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendrogon/pseuds/pendrogon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing that keeps Dean from losing his mind is Castiel. Sam's still on Earth, alone, and Dean starts getting angry, guilty, frustrated when he remembers that particular fact, in the cold nights spent in caves or makeshift shelters that Cas builds in the blink of an eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We are All Just Prisoners Here

**Author's Note:**

> for nyks?  
> for nyks.  
> apologies for mistakes ;_;

Most of the time, Purgatory is dark, damp, and cold. Light comes, occasionally, from some place in the sky, or what feels like the sky, but Dean can't figure out where. Shadows are cast everywhere, but everything moves in a creepy, wasn't-that-just-over-there sort of way.

On top of all that, there are red eyes. Everywhere. Castiel says the red eyes aren't that worrying, that there are far more dangerous creatures, but it doesn't make them any less creepy.

The only thing that keeps Dean from losing his mind is Castiel. Sam's still on Earth, alone, and Dean starts getting angry, guilty, frustrated when he remembers that particular fact, in the cold nights spent in caves or makeshift shelters that Cas builds in the blink of an eye.

Castiel is a nice distraction. Maybe 'nice' is putting it lightly. There are all sorts of raw emotion he still has regarding Cas. Hurt, anger, disappointment. And it's all amplified by his frustration. He's useless in Purgatory. He's helpless and vulnerable. The two weapons he does have—a knife stashed in his boot, a handgun with silver rounds—are useless, too.

So he sits with Castiel, curled too-close in the big, tan coat, Cas's wings pulled tightly around them. They hadn't been visible at first, his wings, but it wasn't too long before Dean started seeing shadows, the occasional feather, glimpses of the magnificent black wings that only flicker out of sight for a moment, now, unless Castiel's thinking about hiding them.

Dean had given up feeling weird about it when something huge and black had wandered into the cave while Castiel was out. He'd almost bled out from an attack by something Dean couldn't even see before Castiel came back.

"You won't die here," Castiel says. Dean's still speechless at his wings, curled protectively around the two of them. "Not permanently. I'm not sure what will happen in the event you do, however."

"Good to know. I'll try not to die, then."

There aren't many topics Dean's unwilling to discuss anymore, alone with Castiel in Purgatory. He's not sure how long they've been here, but Dean figures they'll be here a long time—and that's being optimistic; Dean hardly ever lets himself hope that they're going to get out--so he might as well get used to talking about things he hardly ever even thinks about in the comfort of his own mind.

It isn't always good. Dean spends an embarrassing amount of time talking through his emotion, forcing himself to say words that sound stupid, and he even gets to the point of threatening Castiel about it because it's so…unlike him. "Cas, if you ever breathe a word about anything I've told you—"

"Of course I won't, Dean. I—I understand how hard this is for you."

But nothing is overly familiar here. Dean doesn't think it's really fair if he keeps up a bravado in a place that's tearing it apart.

As shitty as the situation is, Dean's grateful he's with Cas and not Sam, and that Sam is still safe with… No one. Sam's better off on Earth than here, definitely, even if he is alone. Dean hardly gets sleep and when he does, he wakes up at the slightest noise, even with Castiel nearby. At least Castiel still has his Grace. If he didn't…

He's much different now, though. He's not at all the Castiel that Dean had last seen on Earth, dwarfed by Jimmy Novak's overcoat and mental patient clothes. He's much more like that Castiel that Dean first met, but more… human, maybe is the term. It's strange to see him like this again so easily.

Dean doesn't waste time in asking about it. When it's just the two of them, it's simpler. "Cas, why're you more… you, in here?" When Castiel gives him a blank look, Dean continues, "I mean, you're less—you aren’t as loopy."

Cas doesn't even hesitate to say, "I have purpose again."

"You've always had purpose."

"Not while you were still so angry. Waiting to find it someone would ever forgive you is not much of a purpose." It comes out weird, but Dean knows what he's saying. He thinks he does.

The conversation gets cut, thanks to a squeal at the entrance to the cave. Castiel takes care of it quickly.

Sometime later, Castiel finds a small, one-bedroom building in a forest while Dean is sleeping.

"Cas, wh—I thought you've been staying with me? Y'know, making sure I wasn't going to get eaten by—" He falters. Who knows what the hell might eat him?

"I have been. I check on you in short intervals, Dean."

Dean goes because a building, of any sort, is a building and will definitely be safer. They can finally start trying to get out if Dean can be safe, even remotely, without Castiel holding his hand.

"It's very small. I apologize for that. However, Purgatory is easily subject to change. It could grow larger."

"It's fine," Dean murmurs, "Thanks, Cas." There's no bed, but there's a bad, wobbly table and a fireplace with too many holes, but it has walls, and a bathroom, kind of, and a roof, four walls, a lockable door. "It's great."

Cas sighs, turning to bar the door behind them. "I'll work on furnishing it when I can."

Part of him wants to tell Castiel not to worry about furnishing it, that they won't be here long enough for it to make a difference. They shouldn't be. Dean wants to believe it, that they'll figure a way out, or that Sam will, but they've been here for—hell, Dean doesn't even know, but a long time, and there hasn't yet been any sort of "daylight" whatsoever. He's losing faith. Again. "Not a bad idea. We could get, uh—" The thought of _living_ here for any amount of time… "Hell, I don't care. Maybe we'll die or…"

But they won't, they can't. The only the Dean can break is the table, but they'll need it soon, and—

Castiel is at his side immediately, hand against the print on Dean's shoulder. It tingles and Dean feels warm at the touch. "Dean—"

"Don't," he starts, but he doesn't move away. Castiel's wings are huge again, bent around the two of them. "Just—don't."

So he stays quiet, the feathers of Castiel's wings rustling quietly, until Dean's breathing goes back to normal. "I was thinking perhaps cupboards for food, to begin with. Dishes. Unless you'd prefer a bed first?"

"Cupboards are fine," Dean says, even as he feels like his bones are aching at the idea of sleeping on the ground again. "Who d'you think made this place, anyway?" he asks, just to get his mind on some sort of track."Kind of weird to see a house in Purgatory."

"There have been stories of people living here like they live in Heaven and on Earth. No one has been able to confirm it, of course, as those that have been to Purgatory do not return to tell tales."

"Comforting," Dean says to a now-empty cabin, but Castiel is back after just a few seconds with a bunch of lumber.

He explains the plan—Dean to stay and attempt to build some sort of shelving unit, possibly a bed, if he gets the time, and Castiel will go looking for something to use as bedding, something to eat. Dean might not die permanently without it, but it's less concerning if they just deal with it as is, and Dean figures if he can eat, he'll feel like this is a little more normal.

They set to work. Dean hums Metallica loudly enough to cover the noises of outside and until Castiel returns, he works, and works, and works.

The bed frame is small. Dean thought he'd measured it wide enough to fit two people, he thought, but evidently, he didn't do that great of a job with it. In his defense, he has no way of accurately measuring anything. It'll have to do. Everything else in this place looks weirdly disproportionate and off, too. The ugly cupboards should fit right in.

"I've found food, and I have animal hides for the bed," Castiel says when he returns. It's a split second before he adds, "I'm not sure that they're the best, but they'll do." He drops the hides neatly into the bed frame.

"We should—" Dean starts, then shakes his head and drops onto the bed. It isn't actually that bad. Everything is weird, here; he's completely out of his element. The two of them can't die, and Dean barely knows sigils to guard them on Earth—who knows what'd help them here?. "Never mind. What's our next plan, if we even have any?"

"I plan to look for a way to get you out of here."

That throws him for a loop. "Me? Cas, what about you?"

"This is a punishment well deserved. Here I will not be able to interfere with your and Sam's lives anymore. There is only so much destruction one can do here."

"Cas, we—I—you're not staying in _Purgatory_." No one deserves this. This is all darkness and fear and death without dying. It's the moment of sitting on the edge of your seat at a scary moving, but stretched out. A never-ending adrenaline trip, really. It's ripping at Dean to be here, and he's got Cas. He can't imagine what it'd be like to be here alone.

But Castiel shakes his head. "I certainly do not belong on Earth, and I can't go back to Heaven."

Dean's reaching the end of his rope, quickly. "Cas, I'm not gonna leave you here alone, man. Not after every—no. No. You're coming home, all right? You and me, and Sam, and the Impala, that's what we're looking forward to, all right?" In any other situation, Dean might end it with something stupid, something that might make Castiel smile, but now…

"You want me to return with you."

Dean starts to reply, but a loud scraping on the walls interrupts them. Cas is back by his side in seconds, wings enclosing them. He'd be shoving him away, but a defenseless man will take whatever he can get.

"Close your eyes," Castiel says. Even with his eyes shut, Castiel's Grace is blinding, and whatever was climbing the small shack dies with a loud squeal. "You—Dean, are you all right? You're shaking."

Nodding, Dean lays on the bed after Castiel's flickering wings pull back against his body. "It just—happens with fear, Cas."

Silence falls between them, before Dean can feel Castiel poking around in his head. _Cut it out,_ he thinks as loud as he can.

"Can I do anything to help?"

When Dean stays quiet, Castiel sits on the bed next to him, looking concerned. He's much more like himself, not a broken shell of his former self, but Dean wonders how long it'll be before Cas relapses. He pokes around in Dean's head again, just for a second. On Earth, Dean would've been way past the point of telling him to fuck off. This isn't Earth. Dean can't stop coming back to that.

He hears the rustling of wings, then. Cas lays next to him, still silent. Every inch of Dean's skin feels like it's crawling, or shaking. After a moment, Cas grabs his hand, squeezes it tightly. There are still no words, not that either of them really know what to say, but Castiel doesn't leave, or stand, or pull away, and if Dean closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he's in a motel room, the Impala parked right outside, waiting for Sam to get back, before the Leviathan mess, before Castiel's lying, before… Before.

His eyes are still closed when he feels Castiel shift, his voice coming from above him instead of from the side. "I—I want to—"

"Then do it," Dean says. He keeps his eyes shut, afraid of what he'll see if he opens them.

For all his inexperience, Castiel never was a bad kisser. Tentative right now, sure, but they're completely out of their comfort zone in every other aspect right now, it's only normal right now.

The way Castiel kisses feels familiar, the way nothing else does, and Dean grips at his overcoat, pulls him closer by the back of his neck, kissing, licking, biting softly until he can't anymore and pulls away, dropping his head back. Castiel keeps going, though, nuzzling at Dean's neck until Dean says, "Cas," in a voice that doesn't sound like his own.

"I'm—I'm sorry, was that not—"

"No, man, it was—I just—" He isn't sure how to say it without sounding picky, or like he's a cocktease, but even with the small house, with the familiar taste of Castiel, everything's still too—new, and Dean's still pissed, hurt, pissed that he's hurt, and they'll have all the time they need to sort this out, he's guessing. There's no need to rush it.

So he says it. It's alien and foreign to his ears and makes his skin crawl, his own voice sounding so unlike him, but he says it. Castiel seems to understand, as much as he can.

He sits back up, licking his lips. "Might be a good idea to start looking for a way out. I'm not going to live in medieval times forever, man."

They walk around for what feels like days to Dean's feet, and find nothing. Absolutely nothing. The world starts to change around them, from damp forests to dry desserts.

"Maybe the house is gone, too," Dean wonders aloud. Castiel immediately presses a hand to his shoulder. A few of the places they've been thus far flash in front of Dean's eyes. "It's there," Castiel says, removing his hand from Dean's arm as they land back in the sweltering heat.

Dean throws up onto the cracking land beneath them.

For a while, they walk deeper into the dessert. It's hot, yeah, but it's bright and wide open, even if it doesn't stick around for very long. The forests come back, but differently; it's taller this time, with trees that are even grayer, the ground so muddy that Dean's boots keep getting stuck. There's a storm, a thunderstorm, too. Dean sees the cracks of lightning, the claps of thunder high above them through tree branches.

"Don't move," Castiel says, shouting over a clap of thunder. His wings are stretched wide, wider than Dean's seen them yet, and he swears something has changed in Castiel, again.

"What are you talking about?"

"You need to be quiet."

Quiet? Dean's hardly said a word since they've started moving, and the storm's bringing in howling wind and thunder that Dean can barely hear himself think over, it's so fucking loud, and Castiel is shouting.

Then he hears it—it's not thunder, it's something on the _ground_. "Cas, what—"

"You need to get out of here," is all Castiel says before Dean finds himself back in the cabin. Alone.

It's quiet here, and Dean knows he's panicking, but there's not much else to do. He's of no use to Castiel dead or lost, so he can't exactly go out looking for him, and he's useless anyway, so it's not like he'd be able to defend himself. He might as well stick around for the aftermath of Castiel's showdown with some Purgatory giant.

The cabin door's still bolted. Dean busies himself with fixing the wobbly table, making chairs from scraps of wood, anything and everything until a clap of thunder reaches the cabin and Castiel returns—stumbling and covered in black gunk. One of his wings looks like it's half missing, but he's okay.

"Cas!"

"I—I have no idea what it was, but it was much larger than an angel. I'll be all right, of course, I just…" He looks around the small cabin, then back to Dean. "Need a moment."

In a split second, Cas's wing looks normal again, and he's no longer covered in gunk. He lifts the sleeve of Dean's shirt and fits his hand over the handprint, just touching. It's weird, Dean thinks, that this feels as intimate as it does, but the feeling's different in Purgatory than on Earth. Warmer.

"Should I have asked first?" Castiel asks, pulling away. "I…"

Dean ignores his question and says instead, "You sure you're all right?" only to have his concern waved away.

"I'm fine. Even if I had died…" He likely would have come back, somewhere, somehow. There are too many unknowns here.

"Could we avoid finding out for sure?"

The smile Castiel gives him is small, barely there. A handful of emotions go through his mind, hand-in-hand with the ever-present fear. It finally settles on relief, and Dean grabs Castiel by the front of his coat and kisses him.

It's nice to feel his hands lift up, fingers almost digging into Dean's muscles, not that he minds. Castiel is here, he's okay, and Dean's not going to have to watch him die, again.

"Dean," Cas starts after he pulls away. "I'm fine. I'm an angel. It would take a lot more than any random creature from Purgatory to kill me."

That's not necessarily true; Leviathan are random creatures from Purgatory and can kill angels in the blink of an eye. Dean ignores him, though, shoving Castiel's coat off over his shoulders, pressing his lips to his neck, anywhere he can reach.

It's been a long time—too long—since they've been together like this. Before Purgatory, there was Leviathan, then the war in Heaven, and before that, Lisa. They'd found time when Cas was at war, but Dean hasn't felt so glad to have him alive and okay and here in ages.

Then again, he hasn't been the Castiel Dean knew in a long time, either.

Cas has them undressed before Dean can think about it too much, but he does let Dean lead them the rest of the way, more vocal than Dean's ever heard him, moaning, breathing Dean's name at every touch. They'd missed this. It feels nice to be above Castiel, just the two of them, and the room fades out around them until he only sees Cas, that smile still on his lips as Dean runs his hands along Castiel's sides. Words trample each other to get out of his mouth, but the only one he can actually manage to say is, "Cas," still broken.

"I'm right here, Dean."

He may not have an arsenal in the trunk, or even a car, anymore, but he does have a small tube of lube in his jeans. They really should make the best of it, then, Dean thinks, but Castiel's quick to take the tube from Dean.

Soon, the room is full of Cas's sounds, gasps, sighs, moans; Dean doesn't know where to watch because it all seems like it's too hot to not watch. Cas already has two fingers in, arm twisted in what looks like an uncomfortable position just to get them as deep as he can, and he's working in a third when Dean's gaze travels back down from his flushed chest.

He tries to tell Castiel how he looks right now, using his fingers to stretch and open himself, but that isn't what comes out. The noise that does come out makes Cas give the lightest of chuckles before pulling Dean into another kiss.

Things start to blur. Dean spends a while stretching Cas again, partially because he can't remember whether they'd already done it, but mostly because he wants to. He goes down on him, not for long, just to remember the taste, the feel, just to get Cas's hips to thrust against his face.

A second passes between Dean sitting back up and putting Castiel's legs over his shoulders where he wonders if they is how they want to do it, this time—Cas on his back, looking up at Dean with half-lidded eyes, pupils blown wide with lust and, fuck, love—but Cas pulls him forward with his legs.

"I believe you've always told me not to over-think sex." Cas slips his hand over the scar on Dean's arm again. "I'd like to return the favor."

The first slide in always has Dean on the edge, immediately. It doesn't always work like that, but with Cas, it always has. It doesn't matter who's where, the first slide always starts him right at the edge. Sometimes, Cas will play off that, forcing two orgasms from him, but usually he's content to stay where he is, gripping at the bed beneath them.

Cas keeps him in place for a while, breathing shakily while Dean keeps biting along his collarbone, his fingers scraping along Dean's back. It's slow at first, achingly slow, like they have time, and they're safe, and Dean almost believes they are in a motel room, safe and warm and not at all surrounded by things intent on killing them, or bound by time limits until someone came back. No one calling or knocking on a door telling them they're needed.

Maybe, in a way, it's good to just be the two of them. Then again, maybe it isn't.

"Dean," Cas says, his voice tight. "Please."

Castiel keeps his hand on the handprint after that, shaking under Dean, the heels of his feet hitting Dean's back with each thrust. Dean moves slow, angling his hips to make Castiel jerk, to get him to cry out every time he thrusts back in. When he starts making too much noise, he bites down on the side of his hand.

One day, Dean's going to take Cas somewhere, anywhere, where he can be as loud as he fucking wants to be, where tey aren't going to worry about interruptions, and Dean can finally _hear_ him come.

He's moving to meet Dean's thrusts, now, his legs moved to wrap around Dean's waist. The hand that isn't crammed into his mouth is wrapped tightly around himself. Shadows are flickering across the wall, and Dean realizes a little belatedly that they're Castiel's wings, shaking and thrashing like his body is.

When he comes, Dean replaces Castiel's hands with his own and kisses him, pressing as close as he can until Cas slumps against the mattress, arching his back as Dean comes, pressing their foreheads together when Cas breaks away to chuckle softly.

The room's warmer, now, and Dean's surprised to feel sweat on his forehead. Outside, it's quiet. Pushing down the "calm before the storm" saying, Dean looks to the molding ceiling and closes his eyes, listening to Castiel's breathing return to normal.

In an attempt to find a way out, after Dean's recuperated, they stumble across the carcass of the giant creature Castiel had killed earlier. It's huge, bigger than either of them imagined. Dean stumbles closer to Castiel when he swears that it moves.

"It's being eaten," Castiel says. "The creatures are like the vultures on Earth."

"That isn't comforting, Cas."

"I regret to inform you that most things in Purgatory are not."

They share a look—worry, fear, resignation. Dean swears he can hear Castiel think, "I have no idea how to leave this place," the same time he does.

A voice in the back of his head says, _you're never getting home. Sam doesn't know where you are, he's alone, and you're never going to see him again._ The voice gets louder, louder, until it's screaming and it's all Dean can hear, until Castiel grounds him with a touch to the shoulder.

"Should we keep searching?"

Wanting nothing more than to say no, Dean stares at Castiel. They should head back to the shack until—until _something_ happens to them, but Dean Winchester doesn't give up, even if he fights it every step of the way.

"Yeah," he says, stepping closer to Castiel both for comfort and safety. "Yeah, let's go."

Sam's gonna be okay, Dean tells himself. And he's not in Purgatory alone. It sucks and it probably is completely hopeless, but it's something. If he can hold onto that, maybe there is hope. Or something close to it, at least.


End file.
